Elinora Xavier | District 4| fin

I've always been here.

I don't remember auditioning. I don't remember the interviews every child undergoes, or the rigorous testing that must be completed for admittance. I've known a name other than Xavier. The other students, my brothers and sisters I suppose, talk about their old families. Their lives before Trident.

My life has only been Trident.

For as long as I can remember my life has followed a very strict schedule.

Wake up before dawn and run laps.

Eat a practical breakfast. No sugar, no coffee. I do not get to pick what it is.

Enter the practice room in the basement of the mansion and practice until lunch time.

Lunch. Also practical. Also not chosen.

Between lunch and dinner is fighting styles. Hurtling over boxes, perfecting my grip on a spear- the usual Career business. We are permitted a single five minute break in this stretch. One that is frowned upon if used. I always use mine.

A practical dinner.

Another two hours of music rehearsal and a single hour of free time before lights out.


I've never known what to do with that one hour. Sometimes I let my rehearsal drag over, sometimes I go to bed early. Sometimes, I try to talk to my career siblings.

We've never truly clicked.

I've never clicked with Mr. Xavier either. When brought in front of his large, oak wood desk he'd glance at my reports and frown.

"Unsatisfactory Number Seven."

Seven. I've forgotten my birth name to be called only a number.

My career training hours have gotten shorter. Evidently there is fear that my sloppy technique will affect the other children. I was first relegated to watching, and now half of the time is spent locked away in my practice room.

"If she can't fight, the least we can do is get her half-way decent at music."

I press against the fingerboard too hard, my middle finger cramps, I miss a note. There is a tsk and the quick scribbling of a pencil against paper.

Half-way decent. My entire life to this point for half-way decent.

I close my eyes, my fingers drawing my bow across the tightly wound strings. The music is rich and deep, a thick full bodied sound that can only come from an instrument. The horns that blare from the Games sound canned to trained ears. I never perform for anyone besides the trainers. They don't clap, they don't shower unnecessary praises.

Satisfactory. Unsatisfactory.

Black and white, like the school uniform that hugs too closely to my neck. The others have the Trident emblem sewn onto their breast pocket, showing off who they belong to. The Xavier Careers. Intimidating, awe-inspiring, and odd.

My jacket is plain.

I've accepted it long ago. I must have appeared special very young, but have grown up to be nothing more than mediocre. A Trident Academy Career, but not truly.

If I had any sense I'd run away. Forgo all the contracts and vows I don't remember making, grab my violin and live on the streets. I could play for coins, I could work on a fishing boat. I could feel salty air against my face and hot sun beating on my skin.

But I don't know how. I wouldn't know where to start. I've never known anywhere else.

I've always been here.